BAIL.
Money put up to secure the freedom of a human from incarceration.
At least temporarily.
The practice had been around nearly as long as there were bars with people put behind them.
It was just a way to make money off another’s misfortune. There were many businesses built on that concept, and they were all thriving, because misfortune was always in abundance.
Decker sat at the table in his motel room.
The fire at the Marses’ old house had been put out, but the place was heavily damaged. The doors in the garage had been jammed shut. And the door leading from the garage into the house had been blocked off by wedging a long metal pipe between the door and the opposite wall. The police had found an accelerant in the kitchen, which meant that the fire had been set deliberately.
They had looked for the car seen racing away from the scene, but there had been no sightings. Decker was convinced that Roy Mars was in that car. He had no idea who had set the fire, or how they had escaped.
Several bullet holes had been found in the exterior walls of the house near the garage. That could have been evidence of a gun battle between Roy Mars and whoever else had been there.
More FBI agents had traveled down to Texas to help with the investigation, now that an FBI agent had nearly been killed.
What Decker was looking at now were incomplete records. In Charles Montgomery’s first arrest in the 1960s, part of the bail record had long since been lost, including who had posted the bail.
But in the records of the second arrest, Decker found the name of the person posting bail.
“Nathan Ryan,” he muttered.
Ryan had posted bail for Montgomery in Cain, Mississippi, on the morning of February 22, 1968. Who was Ryan, and why would he have put up a bond of five hundred dollars—significant money back then—for Montgomery?
Did they know each other? Were they friends? He obviously couldn’t ask Montgomery that.
He closed his eyes and his mind cast around for a fresh angle from which to pursue the matter.
He opened his eyes and also the notebook that lay in front of him.
January 11, 1968, Tuscaloosa, Alabama. DUI and pot possession.
February 21, 1968, Cain, Mississippi. Drunk driving and illegal gun possession.
Both states in the South, and both within a short time period.
Both involved driving a car under the influence.
Was that a theme or pattern, or just the shenanigans of a young, disillusioned former soldier from Vietnam acting out his immense frustrations?
He had mustered out in March 1967. So why the approximately ten-month period where he had not been arrested for anything at all? Wasn’t it more likely that he would do his petty crime spree right after he’d gotten back?
What had happened to him in the intervening ten months? And after his arrest in Mississippi it seemed that Montgomery had cleaned up his act, at least until he had started committing far more serious crimes later, culminating in his execution.
He closed his eyes again and let his mind wander.
I wonder how many police officers it took to corral Montgomery on those two occasions?
Was it one cop car, two, four, six?
Only to find the driver drunk?
Back then drunk drivers were treated far more leniently. With a wink and a nudge and a night to sleep it off, with lots of coffee thrown in. That happened even when others were hurt or killed. And Montgomery apparently had hurt no one.
Tuscaloosa and Cain.
Both in 1968.
There might be one obvious common denominator.
He opened his laptop again, went online, and did another search.
January 1968, Tuscaloosa, Alabama.
On January 10, an NAACP office had been bombed. Four people were killed. Three civil rights activists and a lawyer from New York. All black.
No one had been arrested for the crime.
And Charles Montgomery had been there, arrested for DUI and possession of marijuana, and he’d posted bail the next day.
He did another search.
February 1968, Cain, Mississippi.
There were many things that had happened there that month. But one event was predominant and carried the most headlines and, now, the most digital ink.
On February 21, fifteen members of an African-American church, including the pastor and four young girls performing in the youth choir, had perished in a bombing.
And the next morning Charles Montgomery had had bail posted for his gun possession and drunk and disorderly charges.
Decker couldn’t fathom the odds of the man being in the two cities at the same time these bombings were being perpetrated. If it were merely a coincidence, it was the mother of all serendipity.
He typed the name Nathan Ryan and added “Cain, Mississippi.” Then he put in the word “bombing” and hit the return key.
He read through the first few results.
When he hit the fifth result, Decker found something that made him focus totally on the screen. It was an obituary of Nathan Bedford Ryan of Cain, Mississippi, who “left this life” on March 2, 1999.
He had been involved in local politics for thirty-seven years, rising to assistant mayor. He had actually died at his desk from a heart attack. That meant he had been on the job when he had bailed out Charles Montgomery, if it was indeed the same Nathan Ryan, and Decker felt sure it was.
He looked at the bail report again. The name listed was Nathan B. Ryan.
The name on the obituary was Nathan Bedford Ryan, probably after the Confederate general, Nathan Bedford Forrest.
As Decker continued reading through the obituary he stopped on one sentence:
“The deceased had been one of the first on the scene of the church bombing that had killed fifteen people.”
So that’s why Decker’s addition of the word “bombing” had brought this up.
Thank you, Google.
The articles he had read on the church bombing did not list any survivors. So Decker wasn’t sure what, if anything, Ryan had done when he’d arrived on the scene. Perhaps he had just been able to help retrieve bodies.
There was a grainy picture of Ryan. He was obviously white. Thus Decker wondered why Ryan had been so close to a black church that he had been one of the first on the scene. He imagined that in 1968, Cain would have been heavily segregated.
So Ryan had posted bail for Montgomery.
Ryan worked in the mayor’s office.
Ryan was one of the first on the scene of the bombing.
And five hundred bucks for an assistant mayor in Cain in 1968 was not small change. And thus Decker wondered if the source of the funds had actually come from someone else.
These events had happened nearly fifty years ago. If Decker traveled to these places, would anyone still be around to talk to him about it?
He rose and went in search of Bogart.
After giving the FBI agent a thumbnail sketch of what he’d found, Bogart said, “What do you propose doing?”
“I propose going to wherever we need to go to solve this,” replied Decker.